


thunderstruck

by psikeval



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 11:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7638823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psikeval/pseuds/psikeval
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Field research, of a sort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	thunderstruck

 

It started as a hopeless little crush.

Mei came back to the world, and it wasn’t the way she’d left it. Time had passed and people had moved on without her, but there were still ways to make a difference, if you had an idea of where to look. She threw herself cheerfully into the work offered by faded remnants of Overwatch, their missions and their modest funding and all they allowed her to do.

And then, without warning, there was Aleksandra Zaryanova.

Zarya seemed to fill up a room in every way imaginable -- this impossibly ferocious Russian weightlifter turned soldier, so imposing she didn’t even bother wearing a full suit of armor. She was gorgeous, and _huge_ , and she smiled so brightly at Mei when they were introduced. She asked how Mei's ice weapons worked, and actually listened to the answers.

So there was a crush, swiftly turned into a full-blown preoccupation with, for example, Zarya’s neatly maintained pink nail polish, or the strong lines of her neck, or how she looks in a specially tailored button-down shirt. By now, Mei’s begun a sort of catalog of facts related to Zarya. Field research, of a sort. Details help distract from the… _immensity_ of Zarya in her entirety. And besides, Mei will always be a scientist. Collecting more data is just second nature.

Thus far, she’s learned the following things:

Zarya hates to sit and plan. In fact, she hates to sit in general, and if she does, she’s usually lifting something. Whatever color her hair once was, she dyes it pink so meticulously that Mei has never seen the roots. She rarely speaks Russian, except to herself, and that happens only in a fight. Her English isn’t quite as good as Mei’s, not having had to work with international colleagues for years, but even when she stumbles Zarya’s speech is unashamed. She is blunt, unapologetic, enthusiastic and incredibly stubborn. While fighting, she will storm the front lines of their opponents with nothing but Mercy or Lúcio to keep her on her feet, and though every time it nearly gives Mei a heart attack, Zarya can crush the resistance to dust in short order.

Another, currently salient point is that Zarya likes to improvise.

They’re in the middle of a skirmish over _absolutely nothing_ , just because they happened to run into Junkrat on a day he felt like blowing up people in his way, the whole city, or possibly just everything in sight.

“This _motherfucker_ ,” Lúcio informs the group, hoisting himself up again and swiftly disappearing into cover to regroup. Mei means to agree wholeheartedly with his assessment before she’s distracted by a shout from Zarya. Not on comms, which Zarya tends to forget about in the thick of things, but still, without quite knowing why, Mei knows it’s meant for her.

“Wall,” Zarya bellows, and points just ahead.

It’s stupid to hesitate, but still. “In front of you?”

“Do it!”

She does, wincing as the ice wall cuts off their lines of fire, unsure what she’s accomplished until Zarya smashes her armored fist through the ice, sending shards and huge, bruising chunks of it flying straight into their enemies. The cascade of rubble also sends one of Junkrat’s flaming, explosive tires careening off a cliff, which is just deeply, _deeply_ satisfying.

“Nice one!” says Lúcio, darting between Zarya and D.Va, using their armor as a barricade even as he heals them and slaps regenerative circuitry onto the mech. “Like, sorry, but fuck that guy.”

“Agreed.” Jack sounds so weary you can almost hear the grey hairs multiplying on his head, like every scream of ‘fire in the hole’ is taking five years off his life. “I think they’re retreating. Good work.”

Once the field is clear for sure, Mei turns away and starts fussing over her drone; it took a hit from shrapnel earlier and there’s been a worrying amount of smoke from its circuits ever since. Luckily, it doesn’t look like any major systems have been damaged. A quick cold-clean by the fire extinguishing circuits takes care of the overheating and metal debris. After that, it makes a cheerful sound and takes up its perch on her shoulder.

The others are gathering slowly near the entrance, where D.Va is using her mech’s sniper-sight option to check for any last traps or signs of an ambush. Mei steps over some chunks of ice on her way over and can’t help smiling to herself.

“We should try that again!” she blurts out the moment Zarya comes close enough to hear, then adds, “with the ice,” just in case that wasn’t obvious.

Zarya grins, flushed and triumphant, the kind of thing that makes a girl weak in the knees. Mei’s drone has to beep its concern and prod her upright again. “It was good. Thank you for trust in me.”

“Trust- _ing,_ ” says Jack, not unkindly, but Mei still finds herself bristling.

“Leave her alone.”

“Whatever,” Zarya tells them, completely unconcerned. “It works.”

Whether she means her choice of words or their newfound makeshift ice-cannon strategy, she’s got a good point. Jack goes off, presumably to polish his guns and brood—Mei isn’t the most forgiving when it comes to his particular quirks. There are plenty of other people she’d rather work with, given the chance. Even Reaper has a better sense of humor.

Without warning, Zarya pries off the top half of her armor, leaving just the form-fitting black undershirt beneath, and starts hammering out a dent. By punching it really hard.

Good counter-argument, Mei decides, feeling more than a little dazed. This team is fine. Perfect.

 

\--

 

Their post-fight celebration is, as usual, anticlimactic but cheerful. Lucio declared that drinks were on him, then realized there weren’t any bars nearby and just brought back some bottles of liquor to this broken-down factory, where apparently they’ll be staying the night. D.Va and Tracer called dibs on the vodka right away and then started a contest that seems to involve who can find the most disgusting thing to sleep on.

It’s ridiculous, and comfortable, and so very _them_ , this nebulous chaotic group of people Overwatch has brought together. It’s also, sometimes, a bit much to handle. She doesn’t mean to be unfriendly, but after a while Mei slips away and takes her cup of rum up to the roof to watch the snow fall.

The flakes are huge now, drifting down slowly, prettier and more likely to stick than the flurries from before. Mei turns her face up and closes her eyes to catch a few on her skin, pleasantly cold against the warm flush from drinking. It’s nice, sometimes, to remember how snow is supposed to be. Soft and quiet and steady, blanketing the world in stillness.

Mei only opens her eyes when she hears footsteps on the solid concrete steps leading up to the roof, and her heart backflips in her chest when she sees Zarya there, hesitating.

“Will it bother you?”

“Oh!” Her voice comes out sounding too loud, and it’s hard to tell if it’s just the rooftop acoustics or if she really sounds as nervous as she feels. “Of course not!”

After a brief moment where Zarya frowns at her and Mei is suddenly struck by the terrified, irrational certainty that she’s given herself away, Zarya walks over and sits down next to her with one arm braced between them. There’s a new set of scrapes across her bicep, a few inches under the lines of the tattoo, and her violently pink hair has been raked back with her fingers. The proximity makes it a little hard for Mei to actually breathe.

“This,” Zarya says after they’ve say for a while in silence, gesturing out into the darkening sky and the snow being illuminated by the glow of artificial lights. “Always my favorite weather.”

“Really?”

“People use to say, they would think I’m tired of snow, after living in Siberia, but,” Zarya shrugs, and that alone is enough to make Mei’s mouth go dry. “I like snow. And I was happy in my village. I thought I was luckiest girl in the world.”

And the most beautiful, Mei decides, following the line of each muscle in Zarya’s arms until she feels almost dizzy. She wonders how easily Zarya could lift her. She wonders how solid those shoulders would feel beneath her thighs and then wonders, with an edge of desperation, what exactly they’ve been talking about.

“You are the one who was frozen,” says Zarya, blessedly unaware. “Don’t you get tired of ice?”

“Oh, no way! Sometimes I just box myself in to cool off. I never liked summer much.”

Zarya grimaces. “Ugh. Hot places, I can never stop sweating.”

“Exactly. Besides, I have so many cute winter coats!”

“Yes. I like this one,” says Zarya, grinning crookedly and reaching over to tug at the hood of Mei’s thick cream-colored parka, lined with wonderfully soft synthetic fur. “It’s very, super cute.”

Then she removes her hand before Mei can even really feel it, because Zarya doesn’t touch people much, unless she’s beating Reinhardt at arm-wrestling. She’s careful about boundaries and things. It’s nice, really, even if Mei’s always a little disappointed.

“Thank you,” she says, and means for it to be polite, but her voice comes out too small and she can’t stop looking at Zarya, at her bare shoulders and the impossibly gentle smile on her face.

“You are cute all the time,” she tells Mei softly.

Instead of speaking, at first, Mei’s heart leaps in her chest and she giggles, one gloved hand clapped over her mouth, unable to believe this is real. Her whole body feels like it’s blushing, and she’d feel stupid for staring, unable to think, if Zarya weren’t still smiling at her. “Would you— do you want to go— I mean, we could, have dinner sometime?”

Zarya reaches out and takes Mei’s hand away from her face, then carefully laces their fingers together. “Yes. Definitely.”

 

\--

 

“Oh for Christ’s sake, you manky bunch of imbeciles,” Tracer snaps over the sound of her pistols firing.

Mercy heaves a very particular aggrieved sigh that tends to mean Tracer keeps blinking out of her sights, and that if she’d just kept her job as a surgeon she wouldn’t have to deal with this shit. “I do so love these little British endearments, darling.”

“Did you see what they did?” demands Tracer, enraged.

“How could I possibly, when I've got to keep an eye on you?”

“Aw, knew you'd come around, love!”

There's a brief, pained silence and then a thrum of energy as Mercy powers up Tracer's pulse pistols. “Just go.”

The mission at Lijiang Tower was meant to be a simple retrieval, no frills, no complications. No trouble at all, Winston told them. But someone—a person, omnic or organization that Mei hates _very much_ at the moment—hired a guard detail to intercept them at the tower, and what these people lack in skill they make up for by being annoying beyond belief. Apparently, if they can’t aim at anything, they’re going to shoot at everything. It’s incredibly sloppy work.

It’s Mei’s last thought before a concussive blast hits the floor below her and knocks her over the ledge.

She tries to grab for a handhold but doesn’t have time, wants to call for help but finds herself too frightened to make a sound. Paralyzed, almost, like a nightmare. The broad hall below, being smashed to bits at the moment by Reinhardt and a bastion unit, tilts and rushes up towards her too quickly. There’s no way to break her fall, nothing but vertigo and a building scream in her throat; she is going to hit the floor hard.

And then she doesn’t.

“Got you,” Zarya promises grimly, holding Mei against her with one arm and hurling a plasma grenade with the other. After a moment to judge its trajectory, Zarya ducks her head, shoulders curved protectively over Mei, and sprints from the line of fire. There’s an edge of hysteria to Mei’s relieved laughter, but she doesn’t try to stop it, isn’t even sure she could.

They’re well placed in cover, out of sight and away from their primary objective, before Zarya glances back and triggers the detonation. Only when they hear a triumphant cackle from Tracer does she move to put Mei down.

“Wait!” 

With no apparent effort, Zarya stops and holds Mei perfectly still in the air. Her eyebrows are raised, but she doesn’t complain about being waylaid, just stands there patiently while a turret fires shots into the other side of the blast wall behind them. It’s shaking the building a bit, this battle, but really it’s business as usual for them, another minor incident in this life they’ve chosen, and Mei has come to believe she couldn’t possibly be happier.

Well. Not _much_ happier, anyway.

“One for the road,” she says, and rests her elbows on Zarya’s armor to kiss her.

The actual breakdown of numbers is more like this: one for the road, one for luck, one because she gets distracted by that gentle swipe of Zarya’s tongue, one because Zarya saved her life and one because Mei still can’t stop shaking, no matter how many times she tells herself she’s all right. After making herself dizzy with the warmth of Zarya’s mouth, Mei kisses her cheek and her beautifully squared chin, then kisses her lips again and lingers. There’s still not the slightest tremor in Zarya’s arms from holding her. They could stay like this so easily.

They won’t, because there’s work to do, but it’s still a nice feeling. Hopeful. Safe.

She straightens her glasses and activates the sighting on her drone, runs a quick test of the coolant, then smiles at Zarya, who’s unstrapped the particle cannon from the back of her armor and is just watching, patient and fond.

“Okay. Let’s get ’em!”

And they do.

 


End file.
